


Human Customs

by lbk_princen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexuality, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbk_princen/pseuds/lbk_princen
Summary: When you've lived among humans for 6,000 years, eventually one or two of them will take a fancy to you. Aziraphale and Crowley discuss this over whiskey on the rocks.(Just a little scene that veers in a couple directions. They're obviously in love but I'm playing up the slowburn.)





	Human Customs

Now that Armageddon was averted and their respective head offices had effectively released them from service, Crowley and Aziraphale suddenly had a lot more freedom to do whatever they liked. They started getting together every weekend, alternating between residences and restaurants. This particular night Crowley pulled to a sharp stop in front of Aziraphale’s bookshop, and was surprised to see that the sign still indicated that the shop was open. Had he forgotten their appointment?

Crowley grabbed the bottle of single malt scotch from where it rested on his passenger seat and exited the Bentley. The bell above the door tinkled as he stepped into the shop, and he immediately zoned in on Aziraphale, who was standing by a bookshelf, chatting amicably with a middle-aged gentleman with a handsome jaw and well-groomed hair.

Aziraphale brightened when he noticed Crowley, and offered his hand to the man in a farewell handshake. Crowley noted the way the human’s gaze didn’t stray at all from Aziraphale’s face, and how he took a step closer than he needed to in order to shake Aziraphale’s hand.

“Thank you for stopping by, but I really must close the shop now. I have some other business to attend to,” Aziraphale said as he ushered the man towards the door, where Crowley was still standing, bottle in hand.

“I’m ‘other business’,” Crowley said with a velvet-lined sneer.

“I see,” said the man, a slight bit unnerved. He glanced back at Aziraphale then gave Crowley a once-over that Crowley did not appreciate. He maneuvered around Crowley -- who didn’t budge from his spot -- and said over his shoulder, “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Fell.” The door shut behind him.

Crowley scoffed and swaggered over to the couch, pushing some books to the side so he could flop down onto it. He hadn’t thought to bring cups, and he didn’t spy any around, so he simply snapped his fingers and two old-fashioned drinking glasses appeared on the cluttered coffee table, with ice in them and everything. As he opened up the bottle of scotch, Aziraphale sighed and waved his own hand. Each of the glasses suddenly had its own colourful, porcelain coaster.

“Does he come in here often?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale went to lock the door. He filled one glass to start and took a long, burning sip.

“Oh yes, he’s one of my few regulars,” Aziraphale replied. He dropped the blinds and went to join Crowley on the couch. “He hardly ever buys anything, which is why I take no issue with him visiting so often. We have great conversations.”

“Mmm.” Crowley poured the other glass for Aziraphale, topping up his own while at it. He looked at the angel meaningfully, even though the sunglasses obscured the majority of the meaning. “Were you aware that he was flirting with you or…?”

Aziraphale paused, whiskey halfway to his lips. His eyebrows pulled down in an expression of puzzlement. “Flirting? I think you must be mistaken.”

Crowley took another sip and smacked his lips afterwards. “No, no I don’t think I am mistaken. He clearly fancies you.”

Aziraphale swallowed his own mouthful of scotch and set his glass back down on the coaster. “How can you be so sure? You saw us chatting for all of five seconds!”

“It was nothing that he _said_ that made it obvious,” Crowley explained. “It’s all in the body language, angel. Haven’t you ever been propositioned before?”

Aziraphale huffed and plucked a stray bit of lint from his coat. “Not as often as you are, I would imagine.”

This made Crowley laugh. Amusement flowed through his voice. “Was that meant to be an insult or a compliment? No, really, I can’t tell.”

“In any case,” Aziraphale ignored the question outright. “I will have to somehow make it clear that I’m not interested. I do hope he won’t stop visiting the shop if I do,” he fretted. “I so enjoy our chats.”

There was a creak of leather as Crowley shifted in his seat to better face the angel at his side. “Have you ever said yes before?” he asked, trying to make the question appear casual and not at all like he was actually curious to know the answer.

“Yes to what, my dear?”

Crowley gestured with his drink. “You know. Propositions.”

Aziraphale shook his head and lifted his own drink once more. “Oh, Heavens no.” After a moment to think, he glanced at Crowley over the rim of his glass. “Why, have you?”

Crowley shrugged and looked down to pick at his shirt. “Ehh. Maybe once or twice. Just to see what all the fuss is about. Quite a lot more trouble than it’s worth if you ask me.”

“Really?” Aziraphale found himself quite surprised by this answer. Sex was such a widely popular activity for humans -- but then again, Crowley wasn’t human so it would make sense if he found the act underwhelming. Like food, sex was something that angels and demons never really craved or felt compelled to seek out, but could be indulged in by choice. “Hm, personal preference, I suppose,” he mused aloud. “And what of kissing? Also not what it’s cracked up to be?”

Crowley’s eyebrows arched. “You’ve not even kissed before? Six thousand years living like a human and you’ve never been _kissed?”_

“I’ve been kissed before!” Aziraphale said defensively. “On the cheeks and hands. On the lips occasionally, but only chastely, as one would with friends. Greetings and farewells, mostly. I’m more asking about impassioned kissing.”

“And you just assume that I’ve done all sorts of passionate kissing in my life, eh?” Crowley drawled. “Just outright snogging every human in sight?”

“I never said anything of the sort,” Aziraphale huffed. “Stop taking the piss.”

Crowley chuckled. “Language! You kiss your friends with that mouth?” he teased.

“Not in a while, now that I think about it,” Aziraphale said. “Gone a bit out of fashion these days.”

 _“You’re_ a bit out of fashion,” Crowley mumbled into his drink.

Aziraphale tutted at him, but any disdain he pretended to have quickly gave way for warmth. He offered Crowley a smile. Crowley accepted it and responded in kind. After a minute of silence they proceeded with pleasantries -- how was your week, have you read the news, etcetera. Crowley again tried to convince Aziraphale that he should just get a smartphone already, and Aziraphale bargained that he would buy a smartphone when Crowley finished reading the novel he’d picked out for him.

Over the course of the evening Crowley migrated down the couch and by the time the bottle of scotch was dry his head was resting beside Aziraphale’s lap, the crown of his skull just barely touching the angel’s outer thigh. One of his legs dangled off the end of the couch and the other was draped over the back.

“We should check in on Adam soon,” Aziraphale suggested. “Make sure everything with him is copa… cocep…”

“Copaseptic?” Crowley tried to help. “Nope, buggered that up.”

“You know what I mean. To make sure he’s still alright.”

Crowley shrugged and patted around for his sunglasses, which had come off his face at some earlier point. “We can do that. You free t’morrow?”

Aziraphale leaned over to the table and picked up the sunglasses, pressing them into Crowley’s questing palm. “Sure. Maybe we’ll go at teatime? Ohh, I should bring _biscuits._  Children love biscuits.”

Crowley pushed the glasses back onto his face. “What if we baked the biscuits ourselves? Got all the time in the frigging world now, unemployed as we are.”

“As you are, maybe,” Aziraphale rebutted with a hiccup. _“I_ have a quite lovely bookshop, thank you ever so much.”

“I need _hobbies,”_ Crowley complained, pushing himself into a sitting position. Aziraphale giggled at him.

They cleaned up a little bit, recycling the empty whiskey bottle and putting away Aziraphale’s new glasses and coasters. The two of them walked back to the front of the shop, and as Aziraphale unlocked the door for Crowley to leave, Crowley grabbed the angel’s arm suddenly.

“Hey,” Crowley said, voice low and tipsy. Aziraphale looked back at him, eyes wide but not in fear or surprise, just genuine eagerness to listen to what Crowley had to say.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, of course.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched up in a small smile of his own, then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s warm cheek. His lips were cold, and Aziraphale’s face almost seemed to burn in comparison. He lingered there for barely a second before pulling away and releasing Aziraphale’s arm. “Farewell, angel,” he said, his voice soft and rasping.

“F-farewell, Crowley,” Aziraphale managed to stutter out, unsure what had just happened.

As Crowley slid out the door and sauntered back to the Bentley, Aziraphale closed and locked the door once more and raised a hand to touch the spot where Crowley had kissed him.

“Just because we were talking about it, I’m sure,” he murmured to himself. It was the first time in six thousand years that Crowley’s lips had ever come in contact with his body, and it had been rather nice to receive a gesture of affection from the one person on Earth he’s known since he’s lived there. Before, they had pretended that their meetings were discreet -- even sitting too close together had felt like a risk at times -- but things were different now, Aziraphale supposed. The thought made his chest swell with warmth.

Crowley’s biscuits turned out bitter and burnt, but Aziraphale finished his anyway because he could tell Crowley had actually tried, and he appreciated the effort. Crowley only pretended to be offended when Adam and even Dog wouldn't touch the things.


End file.
